


Don't Forget: He Has A Brother

by writinginthesecrettrees



Series: Currently Thinking of Henriksen [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Serial Killer Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinginthesecrettrees/pseuds/writinginthesecrettrees
Summary: Dean is kidnapped. Sam wants him back.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Currently Thinking of Henriksen [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718425
Comments: 10
Kudos: 151





	Don't Forget: He Has A Brother

**Author's Note:**

> takes place in August 2007, between Independence Day and Halloween

The first thing Dean became aware of was that Sammy wasn’t next to him, and something in his soul told him that Sammy wasn’t anywhere nearby.

That, more than the ropes tying him to the chair and his splitting headache, told him that something had gone wrong. Last night (was it last night?) was drinks at a bar, playing pool with some idiots and watching Sam dance with the sort of pretty little thing both of them love to play with, shiny blonde hair and a short red dress and Dean can already picture what she’ll look like when her hair is wet with blood, and then the world starts to get a bit fuzzier than beer can account for and that sweet girl doesn’t know it but it’s her lucky night, he’s gotta get to Sam and tell him… tell him… 

The last thing Dean remembers is the world spinning, and a voice saying “Hey, buddy, you don’t look so good,” and darkness.

The room he’s in is dark, faint daylight filtering through a dirty window high on the wall, the floor is concrete and there’s water dripping from an exposed pipe, leak tied off with an old rag. He’s been tied to a chair by someone who knew what they were doing, ropes not giving at all when he tests them.

Above him, a door opens and footsteps approach, down a flight of stairs and coming to a halt just behind him. They stand there, silent, and Dean shakes his head.

“Don’t get shy now, sweetheart. You’re the one who wanted me here, aren’t ya?” Dean pictures the face Sam would make if he could hear him, pissed off over Dean not taking things seriously.

The man behind him moves then, comes around to where Dean can see him, and Dean’s not surprised to see one of the locals he’d been playing pool with. Sam’s gonna bitch him out for this, getting drugged and kidnapped by some idiot amateurs. Dean feels his lips stretch into a smile and he doesn’t try to hold back his laugh then.

“What’re you laughing at, pretty boy? Or are ya too stupid to know what’s happening here?” 

The anger on his abductor’s face makes Dean laugh harder. The sudden flare of pain and taste of blood in his mouth when the man punches his cheek helps him stop. He spits blood out onto the floor.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think is happening, and I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.”

“I think we got us a very pretty plaything, and we’re gonna have a lot of fun soon’s we decide who gets the first turn.” There’s an arrogant cruelty on the man’s face that would be hot if he were Sam, but he isn’t and Dean’s gonna flay him for the almost-resemblance.

“You’re wrong, and you’re an idiot.” A shadow flickers past the window and Dean grins up at the man, blood staining his teeth and gums. “See, you thought I was just some innocent passerby, and no one would notice me missing for who knows how long.” The confidence on the man’s face starts to flicker. “But someone noticed me missing right away. Five minutes after you assholes grabbed me, guaranteed. And he’s coming for you.”

“So we get two toys. We know how to handle nosy friends.” False bravado is something that Dean’s never seen on Sam’s face so it fits the man better, won’t save him from the fate Dean’s already decided on.

A slight scuffle upstairs, and the man looks towards the cellar ceiling. 

“You sure about that?”

-

Sam looks up from the blonde he’s dancing with, frowns when he sees the pool tables empty and no Dean in sight. Dean should still be there, hadn’t been playing long enough to have cleaned them out yet.

He’s not too worried. Dean can take care of himself, probably the guys he was playing with got tired of losing and Dean will be out in the parking lot, hiding in the back of the Impala for Sammy to bring his lovely armful out for a night of fun.

No special occasion this time but they both get an itch when they haven’t had blood on their hands in a while, and this girl has a soft innocence that promises tears and whimpers and begging when they have their knives in her, rope around her throat and face turning blue and Dean saying “good boy” in his ear for finding her. Sam presses himself against her, whispers in her ear, and she giggles like she thinks the hard-on against her belly is for her.

He can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right. Dean should have caught his eye before slipping outside, given him a signal that it was time for the real fun to start. He’s casual when he asks the girl if she wants to play some pool with him.

“I haven’t played much,” she says. “Tables are usually full.”

“I’ll teach you, baby,” Sam purrs, imitating Dean. Arm around her waist as he steers them to the pool tables, and very casually, “Those guys who were here earlier, they usually take over the games?”

She nods, makes a show of running her hands up and down the pool cues and probably thinks it’s seductive. “They’re bad news.”

Sam racks the balls, rolls his eyes behind her back when she bends over too far with her cue held deliberately wrong but plays along, leaning over her and guiding her hands correctly. “Bet I could take ‘em.”

She laughs then, turns in his arms so she’s half-lying on the table beneath him. “They’d like you to try. They like pretty strangers. It’s a good thing you aren’t the only new blood in town.”

Dean’s got to be the prettiest stranger they’ve ever seen, and he was playing pool with the bad news while Sam was separating this bit of fun from the herd instead of watching his back. Sam grits his teeth while he takes a shot, sinks a few before missing to give her another turn. He trails his fingers over her arms, her neck, her thighs while she lines up a shot, leans in to whisper, “Sink the eight ball and I’ll give you a special prize,” and she does, no hesitation.

“So where’s my prize?” she asks, light and teasing and sparkling eyes.

“Come back to my room with me,” he says, and she smiles. Lets him take her hand and lead her outside, to the Impala, black and gleaming in the moonlight.

Dean’s not in the back. That’s okay. Sam will find him soon.

She doesn’t start to get worried until he’s driven past the only motel in town with no sign of slowing. 

“I think you missed your turn,” and her voice is shaking, just a little, and this is the part where Dean should rise up out of hiding, lock his arm around her throat and squeezesqueezesqueeze until she’s unconscious but Dean’s not there and Sam can’t enjoy her fear when his own is clamoring louder and louder in his brain.

“Shut up.”

She’s scrambling for the handle now, and he pushes the gas pedal to the floor, racing down dark deserted roads towards the old abandoned farmhouse he and Dean had found that morning. The reason they stopped here instead of driving on through town, and Sam’s already picturing it going up in gasoline-fueled flames when he’s done because if they hadn’t stopped Dean wouldn’t be missing.

“I wanna go home,” she whimpers.

“Shut. Up!” Sam takes one hand off the wheel, grabs the back of her head and slams her forward against the dashboard. She goes limp beside him.

She doesn’t come back around until he throws a bucket of water over her face, and if Dean wasn’t missing Sam would enjoy the disorientation melting into panic as she realizes she’s hanging from her wrists, feet just barely touching the floor.

“Oh God, oh God,” she cries, twisting around, trying to see something outside the puddle of light cast by oil lamps around her feet. Sam steps into the light behind her, waits for her to twist back around, and she screams when she sees him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me about bad news. And what they did with my brother.”

“What?”

“Wrong answer.” Sam takes his knife, drags it down her body from her collarbone to her cunt, pressing deep enough that her skin rips along with the fabric of her dress, and she screams and tries to twist away. “Careful,” he says, letting the knife press deeper at her ribs, “if you move too much I might lose control.” The dress falls open, red blood on her skin giving the illusion that it’s still whole.

“You’re sick!”

“And you’re not answering my question.” Sam slices through the straps holding her dress up, watches it slide off her body to the floor. “No panties? Bad girl.”

“You seemed to like it earlier.”

“Darling, I was thinking of my brother.” Even with Dean missing, Sam relishes the look of disgust on her face. “Which brings me back to my question: who were the men he was playing with, why are they bad news, and where is Dean?” 

“I don’t _know!”_

“I don’t believe you.” He pulls a lighter from his pocket, flicks it on, holds it in front of her face. Eyes wide with terror, whites showing all around as she strains her head back from the flames. He laughs at her, brings it closer until he can see the babyfine hairs on her cheek shrivel in the heat. “You’re lucky I don’t have time to set up all my toys. I got a poker - it gets real hot when I let it sit in a fire, makes the flesh sizzle when I play. You ever hear human flesh sizzle?”

She doesn’t answer, just sobs, eyes focused on the flame in his hand.

“Sounds just like burgers on a grill. My brother loves burgers. He likes the sizzle sound, too.” He flicks the lighter closed and puts a gentle hand on her cheek, gives her the earnest eyes that drew her in earlier, suppresses a laugh when she jerks her head away from his touch. “I just want my brother back. Just… tell me what you know, and this’ll be over.”

“They’ll hurt me,” she whimpers softly.

Sam smiles at her. “I’ll hurt you more.”

She cries as she tells him everything she knows about the Pickering men: their cruelty in the town, how the shopkeepers and bartenders and even the sheriff are afraid of them, how sometimes when a traveler is passing through town they turn up missing, and how they have a hunting cabin a little ways out into the wilderness and the whole town breathes a sigh of relief when their truck trundles out for a stay. Sam strokes her hair, croons at her that she’s being so good, thanks her for the information. When she’s done, she looks at him with hope bright in her eyes. “So… you’ll let me go now?”

Sam cups her face in his hands, marvels at how small she looks, presses a soft kiss to her forehead. She looks almost giddy with relief, and he desperately wishes Dean were here to watch it turn to despair when he says, “No.”

He leaves her alive, bars the door and throws a match on the oil-soaked wood. It catches immediately, and he can hear her start to scream when the fire licks its way inside. He sits in the Impala, watches the old barn burning brighter and brighter, strains his ears to hear her over the increasing roar of the flames, jerks himself roughly and thinks about how good Dean’s mouth would feel if he were here, sucking him off while Sam watched the fire. It’s not good enough, and Sam tucks himself back into his jeans unsatisfied. 

He’ll come with Dean, or not at all.

-

Sam finds his brother bound to a chair in a filthy cellar, the last of the Pickering men standing behind him with a knife to his throat. Dean looks bored, rolls his eyes when the man says “If you come any closer I’ll kill him!”

Sam ignores him, takes the last steps down the stairs. “Dean?”

“I’m fine, Sammy. They’ve been very hospitable.”

“That’s a big word for you.”

“Shut up.” The affectionate grin Dean gives him brings an answering smile to Sam as he starts towards them.

The knife at Dean’s throat bites in deeper, a drop of blood trickling down towards the collarbone and Sam wants to be done with the Pickerings so he can lick the drop away, suck Dean’s skin clean.

“I mean it, stop!” The man sounds hysterical, and Sam glances up at him.

“Any objections if I just blow this one’s face off?” he asks Dean.

“Kinda got plans for his face,” Dean says.

Sam thinks about what sort of plans Dean might have. Really wants to watch whatever Dean’s wanting to do. “Okay, then.”

The man had underestimated how fast Sam could move - most people did, thought _big_ and _tall_ also meant _slow._ Sam’s at his side before he realizes Sam’s running, fingers digging into the man’s wrist as he forces the knife away from Dean’s throat. He manages to land a fist in Sam’s ribs, and Sam twists his hand, breaks the wrist he’s holding like snapping a twig. The knife drops and the man howls as Sam forces him to the ground, kicks his head to knock him out.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Dean says while Sam cuts him free.

Dean stands up, rubbing at his wrists and scowling as blood flows back to his hands.

“Let me.” Sam grabs his hands, rubs them briskly, gives the nerves something to feel other than pins and needles. “I had a bitch of a time getting info on where these dicks were.”

“Yeah, well.” 

It’s not in Dean’s nature to admit he was worried, but Sam doesn’t have a problem with it and he pulls Dean against him, wraps his arms around Dean, marvels that he got here before the Pickerings really got started on him, buries his face against Dean’s neck and breathes in the gunpowder and blood scent that means home. “I was worried about you. Jerk.”

Dean’s hand strokes over his hair, and he can hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he says, “Bitch.”

-

They tie the man in the cellar to the chair Dean had been bound to, head upstairs to put some restraints on the others. Dean grins at the two unconscious men, left in a heap by the front door. “You get me the nicest gifts, Sammy,” and Sam glows at the praise.

“Thought you’d wanna play with them yourself.”

“You know me so well.”

There’s a bed in a backroom, not quite a single but not big enough to be a double and the sheets have seen better days, but Sam doesn’t object when Dean pushes him down onto it. Doesn’t object to the ropes Dean holds up, one eyebrow raised in a silent question, lets Dean tie his wrists to the bedposts and opens his legs, lets Dean slide his body into the perfect fit space between them.

Dean growls as he fucks Sam, one hand pressed over Sam’s throat and squeezing off his air, and the ecstasy on Sam’s face spurs him on. He dips his head to kiss Sam and Sam licks flamehot into his mouth, tastes like candy and ash and blood and it’s heaven. He finishes before Sam and leaves him hanging, ignores the protest as he walks out naked.

Comes back with a Pickering on a leash and stands in the doorway for a minute, admiring the way Sammy looks tied to a bed and thoroughly debauched, cock hard and dripping precum on his abs. “Such a pretty picture, Sammy. Isn’t he pretty?” he asks the man he’s dragging.

“Fuck you!”

“Well, that’s just rude. I let you see my baby brother, the prettiest thing in the world, and you don’t even say ‘thank you.’ Can you believe him, Sammy?”

Sam’s scowl makes Dean laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, Sammy. Can’t have him walking around with this memory. I’m jealous like that.”

Dean’s covered in the man’s blood when he comes back to the bed for round two. He goes slowly, jacking Sam through a first orgasm and fingering his already loosened ass through a second, soft kisses across his nose and cheeks as Dean thrusts slow and deep until Sam’s shuddering through a third. 

The second Pickering dies quickly, eyes gouged out before Dean pulls him into the room and Sam’s murmured approval as Dean takes a hammer to his major bones before smashing his skull in.

Dean slides into Sam easily, cumslick and open for him and Sam moans happily, gives a full-body wriggle beneath him and blinks sleepy eyes and when he’s done Dean unties Sam, lets him curl up under a ratty quilt while he goes to get the last man.

The one in the cellar.

He’s just coming around from Sam’s kick when Dean drags him still tied to the chair into the room. His face is a bit addled, like if they let him live he’d never be quite right in the head again but the only regret there is he won’t really understand what’s happening to him.

Dean took time to grab his tools from the Impala, and he makes sure Sam is watching when he stands behind the man, holds his chin in one hand and presses a surgically sharp blade into the skin at his hairline. “Told ya I had plans for this one, Sammy,” Dean says and loves the way Sam’s eyes light up. 

He watches Sam’s smile as he slices around the man’s face, starts to peel back skin and flesh while the man screams and screams.

“Touch yourself, Sammy. Wanna watch.”

And Sam does, rubs his oversensitive dick and whimpers at his own touch, runs his thumb over the head, curls over and presses the fingers of his other hand into his hole.

The face comes free under Dean’s knife, and the man is twitching. Dying, probably, shock and blood loss draining the life from him. As he dies, Dean leans in to whisper in his ear. “You made several mistakes here, _buddy._ One was hunting where you live. That’s just plain stupid. Another was hunting me - I’m Dean Winchester, and it’s too bad you won’t live long enough for the FBI to tell you what that means.” He chuckles. “But your biggest mistake? The fatal flaw? _You didn’t account for my brother.”_

Dean ends the man’s suffering with a knife across the throat, arterial spray splattering over Sam as Sam comes. They fuck one last time in the outdoor shower, rinsing blood and worse of their skin and out of their hair, and Sam goes to his knees under the spray to suck Dean off again before they leave.

-

Currently thinking of Henriksen in the middle of summer, and he knows the Winchesters aren’t going to go months without a kill so when a call comes in that might be his sort of thing, he gathers up the team and heads out. Finds himself in a small town, with a burnt down barn and a woman’s charred body hanging from a chain inside. An old cabin just outside town, and shallow graves that the locals are digging up, filled with bodies that belong to at least fourteen missing persons, and they’re still finding more. The locals are avoiding going inside the farmhouse, but the green faces on several of them say they’ve taken a peek.

Inside, it’s Winchester work.

“What do you think happened, sir?”

“I think those brotherfuckers did us a favor for once. Bartender says these sick fucks left with a man matching Dean’s description.”

“And?”

“Guess they didn’t know he had a brother.”


End file.
